God Moves In a Mysterious Way
by Mrs Pepperpot
Summary: Have you ever wished Peter and Assumpta's love story had happy ending? I did, and so I wrote one. It's been almost sixteen years since series 3 of Ballykissangel ended, but true love lives on forever. Please R & R.
1. Chapter 1

**I have recently been re-watching series 1-3 of Ballykissangel. I loved it back in the day, and yes, I was rather fond of Father Peter Clifford. I hated the way the series ended Assumpta and Peter's love story, as I suspect did many people. I got the inspiration to write this fanfic, and it's only taken me 16 years after The Reckoning! This story is a mash-up of the Warren Beatty movie, Heaven Can Wait, with a pinch of the BBC sitcom, Goodnight Sweetheart, and, of course, Ballykissangel. All you need to be aware of, is that Dervla Kirwan (Assumpta Fitzgerald) played the character of Phoebe Bamford (later, Phoebe Sparrow) in the BBC sitcom Goodnight Sweetheart. She left after three series, as she did with Ballykissangel. The character was played by a different actress from the fourth series onwards, but Dervla was the original Phoebe. The character married Gary Sparrow, and they had a son called Michael, who in turn had a daughter he named Phoebe, after her grandmother. That's really all you have to know for this fanfic, and I hope I've explained it clearly enough. Here's my attempt at a happy ending for Peter and Assumpta, with a little help from the supernatural, as it's my particular penchant. I like to think I'm a bitter and twisted old cynic, but the truth is I'm still a sucker for happily ever after. I hope you all enjoy reading this fic, and please leave a review. Thank you - Mrs P.**

* * *

God Moves In a Mysterious Way

Chapter 1

Heaven Can Wait 

_Assumpta, don't leave me…_

_A tunnel of bright white light swallowed her whole, and she was surrounded by every memory from her life all at once. Voices and images of loved ones from the past and present swirled around her. _

_Then silence fell, and she found herself emerging from a thick white mist into a throng of lost souls. They were waiting for something or someone, and she joined them._

_Where am I? She questioned. No one replied._

_An officious looking man, dressed in a white suit and holding a clipboard, was rummaging through the papers which were attached to it. He glanced in her direction, and then continued searching through his pages._

_Oi, you, what's going on? She yelled over at the man._

_He eyed her with suspicion and beckoned her towards him._

_Name? He demanded._

_Assumpta Fitzgerald._

_Where am I? Where's Peter? She asked_

_Saint Peter? The man queried. He's outsourced, he said._

_She looked incredulous, and then the truth finally dawned on her._

_Oh, no, no, NO! This isn't happening, it can't be. I can't leave him, it will break his heart, and I'll never get to Heaven then, will I?_

_The man looked down at his clipboard, his face had been a mask of officialdom, but now he appeared increasingly alarmed._

_Oh, this can't be right, he said._

_Assumpta barely noticed his distress, as she was too consumed by her own. His constant muttering eventually drew her attention, and she fixed him in her steely glare._

_I don't care what you have to do, just get me back, she demanded._

_The man stopped his fussing and sheepishly met her eye._

_The thing is, and I don't know how this could have happened, but you aren't supposed to be here anyway, he said._

_If looks could kill, the man would have dropped down dead, if he wasn't already._

_WHAT? _

_We were expecting Sister Assumpta Fitzgerald, a seventy-two year old nun. You were not expected for, well, for quite some time, the man explained._

_She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She only wanted to be back with Peter. He loved her, and she loved him._

_Oh God, I never even got to say those words to him, she gasped. _

_Assumpta was sure he knew. Did he know? She had to tell him._

_Well then, just put me back where I belong, and we'll say no more about it._

_The man started fidgeting again._

_Well? _

_She waited for him to comply, and the longer he kept her waiting, the angrier she became._

_It's not that simple, I wish it was, but it's not. You are dead, and it shouldn't have happened, but it has. I'm afraid things have moved on down there, and your body is no longer - inhabitable, the man explained._

_NO, this is just a bad dream, or I ate some dodgy Chinese food or something. You fix this, NOW; she grabbed him by the scruff of the neck._

_Your husband had your remains cremated, so there's nothing left to send you back to, he squeaked._

_Assumpta released the man from her grip and slumped to the ground. All she could think about was Peter, and how he had begged her not to leave him. He was giving the priesthood up so they could be together, and now he'd been left with nothing._

_This isn't fair. It isn't right. He doesn't deserve this. I just want to go home, she sobbed._

_Who are you anyway? I demand to speak to whoever's in charge, Assumpta raged._

_The man disappeared to seek advice from a higher authority._

_She decided she wouldn't take this lying down. If God could do all the things he was supposed to be able to do, he could fix this. _

_The man reappeared with an efficient looking woman, who was also wearing a white suit. She seemed to be in charge, and she stepped forward to speak._

_Mr Kite has explained the nature of the administrative blunder which brought you here. I am Mrs Bloxham, and I intend to, shall we say, balance the books. I could offer a thousand apologies for your present predicament, and it wouldn't change things one whit. We could keep you here; after all, what's done is done. Once you stepped through those pearly gates, you'd forget your mortal troubles. However, I have a proposition for you, and it's a solution of sorts. We have a vacancy due to come available, and I must say that although we don't usually do things this way, you are a special case, the woman explained._

_A vacancy? Assumpta questioned._

_A unique opportunity, I should say, for your soul to return to Earth in the body of a young woman, who will soon be meeting with an unfortunate accident._

_It didn't sound like much of an opportunity, and it wouldn't help her get back to Peter._

_No, I want to be me, I want to be who I am, not some random woman, she argued._

_Mrs Bloxham pursed her lips and then gestured to Mr Kite to hand her something. It looked like a small television screen, only it was almost flat, like a window._

_Here, take a look, this is who you could be, she said holding up the screen._

_Assumpta stared hard at it as a picture began to appear, and then she gasped._

_But… she's…I don't believe it, how could this be?_

_Ah, Ms Fitzgerald, there are more things in Heaven and on Earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Mrs Bloxham grinned._

_You will be her, and she will be you. You won't have any conscious memory of this, or of your former life, and to everyone else things will carry on as before. There's always the unconscious though, and déjà vu._

_But what about the life I had? What about Peter?_

_Assumpta closed her eyes and she could hear his anguished sobs, begging her not to leave him._

_I don't want a life without him, she wept._

_You need to have faith that all with be well. Things have a way of working out as they should, in the end, Mrs Bloxham smiled._

_I'll see Peter again? Assumpta wanted to believe._

_If two people are meant to be together, there isn't a force on Earth, or in Heaven, that can keep them apart, the woman said with a wink._

_Then what are you waiting for? Send me back to him._

_Mr Kite held up a document for her to sign, and lamented that no one bothered to read the small print anymore._

_It's a mere formality, for such an unusual case as this. If you choose to sign on the dotted line, then you will be consenting to live the remainder of your life in someone else's body. You will be her, in that you'll have her memories and everything else which makes a person who they are. But inside her will beat your heart and soul, Mrs Bloxham explained._

_Assumpta decided she could live with it, she'd have to, and so she signed._

_Now, all you have to do is close your eyes, and we'll take care of the rest, they assured her._

_Hold on, Peter, I'm coming, and in the words of Meatloaf, Heaven Can Wait…_


	2. Chapter 2

God Moves In a Mysterious Way

Chapter 2

How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?

Had it really been almost two years since her death? Peter Clifford could scarcely believe it, for him the pain was still fresh and as raw as ever. He had been in too sorry a state to do much on the first anniversary of Assumpta Fitzgerald's death, besides drown his sorrows. He had done a lot of that, and if it truly were possible to rid oneself of grief by drinking it away, he would have flushed it out of his system in no time at all. As it was, he drank himself into oblivion as often as he could, just to forget her, or to remember without the pain. It was no way to live, not for an ex-Priest, or anyone else, come to that. He knew he had to try and put his life back together again, it was just easier said than done.

_How can you mend a broken heart, eh, Assumpta? The Bee Gees never did get around to answering that one. _

The turning point for Peter was receiving an unexpected correspondence from an old friend. He had known Father Gordon Blake since their years together in the seminary. They kept in touch with the occasional letter during the intervening time, which had dwindled to annual Christmas greetings. This particular correspondence also brought with it an invitation, to spend a few days with Father Blake in his new London parish. It was just what Peter needed, a chance to take a break away from his Manchester mire. He had all but exhausted the goodwill of his family and few friends in his hometown. His life had been rudderless for long enough, and spending time in another city, might just be the incentive he'd been looking for to start over. He was even quietly considering looking for work there, and making a permanent move.

* * *

He spent most of his first day in the east end of London wandering around. Gordon had offered to show him the lay of the land, but he'd decided to go it alone. His mind was on other things anyway. He thought about Assumpta and the last time he'd seen her alive, looking so beautiful and vital. Peter knew he had to stop torturing himself and try to move on. But first, he was going to find a pub and drink a toast to her. It was two years to the day since he'd lost her, and the pain had not been dulled by the passage of time. He saw a quaint looking east end pub ahead of him, The Angel; he thought it was very apt. He glanced up at the licensee's sign above the door; Phoebe Sparrow, it read. He thought it was a good name for a pub landlady, even if it was no Fitzgerald's.

It was approaching four in the afternoon, and the place was quiet. There was an older man behind the bar, who looked to be in his late fifties, with white hair and a friendly smile. There was no sign of the landlady, who was probably this man's wife, Peter deduced.

"What can I get you?" The man asked.

He was quite well spoken and wasn't at all a stereotypical Cockney.

"Err, what have you got that's Irish, and not Guinness, maybe a whisky?" Peter inquired.

"My Phoebe does a lovely Irish coffee, but she's out at the moment, an Irish whisky it is then," the barman said with a warm smile.

The former-priest took in his surroundings; it was an old-fashioned pub with lots of oak beams and brass. There was a fireplace at the far side of the bar, and the room was decorated primarily in a dark red colour.

"Nice place. Do you and your wife run it?" Peter asked as he took a swig of his whisky.

The barman chuckled.

"Good heavens, no. I doubt my wife, accomplished as she is, would know one end of a beer tap from the other," he said.

"This place belongs to my daughter, I'm Michael Sparrow," he explained.

"Now my first wife, Phoebe's mother, she could turn her hand to anything, she would've loved it. You've a fondness for the Irish then, have you?" He inquired as he indicated to the whiskey.

Peter was about to reply when he caught sight of something, which surely would have caused him to drop his drink, had he not already set it down. There, behind the bar, was a small portrait of a woman. The photograph was in black and white and looked to be from the Second World War era, but the woman was devastatingly familiar. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and pointed shakily at the portrait.

"How did you…? Who…?" He couldn't form a coherent sentence.

The woman was Assumpta Fitzgerald, or someone who looked exactly like her.

"Ah, lovely picture, isn't it? That's my mother, the original Phoebe Sparrow. She was a proud east end pub landlady once, too. She gave it up not long after she married my father, but the apple didn't fall far from the tree. My daughter is just like her gran, in looks and spirit," Michael said with a wistful smile.

Peter nodded in an almost automatic way and managed a thin smile in response. He was in shock and he gripped hold of his glass and drained it. The liquid burned the back of his throat. He'd been abstaining recently, old habits, he thought bitterly. What was this, he wondered. Maybe grief had finally driven him out of his senses and he had completely lost his mind. Father Mac once told him that Ireland was full of Assumpta Fitzgeralds, but he'd never seen another woman like her, until now. He seemed to have found two in one place, although he surmised, the forties look alike must surely be in her eighties by now. There was still the barman's daughter though, the young Phoebe Sparrow. She was described as being the spitting image of her grandmother, who in turn was the double of his lost love.

He contemplated ordering another drink, and then reconsidered. It would be for the best if he got out of there, and fast, before the past really caught up with him. He was used to living with her ghost and his regrets, and this was uncharted territory. This woman, whoever she was, she wasn't Assumpta.

Peter got up and headed for the door. He was in such a rush he wasn't looking where he was going and he managed to collide with a rough looking patron. He offered a hurried apology but the man didn't appear to be in a forgiving mood.

"You're not from around here, are you?" The man jabbed at his chest.

"Err, no, sorry again, I'm just in a bit of a hurry," Peter babbled.

The other man glared back at him and looked ready to punch his lights out. But the moment passed, and he turned to order a drink as the former-priest beat a hasty retreat.

He practically ran out of the door and barely even noticed how hard the rain was beating down on him. It had been a lovely sunny day when he'd entered the pub and he was ill equipped for the change in the weather. Peter turned the collar of his jacket up and scurried back to his lodgings, as fast as his feet would carry him. He crossed over a few roads and raced down a couple of streets, only to discover that he was completely lost. He looked for the landmark of his friend's church, St. Mary's, but it was nowhere in sight. He turned around in haste and ended up bumping into a woman who was heading towards her parked van.

"I'm terribly sorry," Peter apologised and picked up the umbrella he'd knocked from her hand.

When his eyes met hers they grew wide with shock, for standing there before him was the woman who could only be, Phoebe Sparrow. She was the very image of his lost Irish love. She smiled at him in her old familiar way, the one that made his knees weak.

"You're forgiven," she said and took back her wet brolly.

She knew his face, was it from a dream? She had an overwhelming feeling they'd met before.

"Do I know you?" She inquired.

He tried to speak but could only make his lips move without the words he intended to say.

"Are you O.K?" She asked with a look of genuine concern.

"Only you look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's a long story," he finally managed in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

She looked like she was going to reach out to take his hand, and then thought better of it.

"You don't sound local," she said in her soft east London accent.

He desperately tried to pull himself together enough so he could answer her.

"No, I...I only arrived here this morning. I'm staying with a friend but I seem to have got meself lost," he explained.

He took a few more deep breaths and even managed a smile.

The rain was still pounding down and they were getting wetter by the second.

"I wouldn't normally do this, but you look harmless enough and we'll start sprouting fins if we stay out here much longer. Let's get in my van and I'll help you find your friend's house," she offered.

He hesitated briefly as he thought about the first time he'd ever laid eyes on Assumpta Fitzgerald. She had saved him from walking in the rain and took him to his new home. Here he was in another time and place, with another woman offering to do much the same. He jumped into the passenger seat beside his dead love's doppelganger, and tentatively looked into her eyes.

"I'm Phoebe, by the way, Phoebe Sparrow," she confirmed what he already knew.

"Peter Clifford," he said as he instinctively held out his hand.

She looked at him with curiosity as she took his hand and gently shook it. They both felt something pass through them as they touched. They sat momentarily in private contemplation before the silence began to make them uncomfortable.

"So, Peter, what's your friend's address?" She inquired as she started the engine.

"It's the rectory next to St. Mary's church, on St. Mary's road, do you know it?" He asked.

She laughed.

"I know where it is, yeah, although I'm not exactly what you'd call a regular churchgoer," she explained.

He smiled at yet another déjà vu moment.

"Hang on a minute, the rectory? You're not a priest, are you?" She inquired with a look of horror.

Phoebe was alarmed at the prospect although she wasn't sure why, only that she feared he might be.

Peter couldn't stop himself from letting out a snort of laughter.

She gave him a confused look.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's just, err, I used to be a priest," he explained.

"An ex-priest, eh? Interesting," Phoebe said as she waggled her eyebrows.

She felt oddly comfortable with this man and had a strange feeling, like they'd somehow done all this before.

"You said something about a long story, when you bumped into me, care to tell it?" She asked.

He let out a sigh, and wondered where he could even start, but every story has a beginning.

"Why not," he smiled as they drove onwards.


	3. Chapter 3

God Moves In a Mysterious Way

Chapter 3

To Cut a Long Story Short

Peter took a deep breath and thought better of baring his soul to a complete stranger. It didn't matter how much this woman looked like Assumpta, she wasn't her. The situation was just too surreal, and he wondered if he could be dreaming. He discreetly pinched himself to try and be sure.

"So?"

Phoebe asked expectantly, as she eagerly anticipated hearing his life story. She took a quick glance at him and pictured him wearing a dog collar. She imagined he would look sexy, all in priestly black, and a blush crept over her cheeks.

"It doesn't have a happy ending," he warned.

_There's time yet, _she thought.

Phoebe couldn't stop herself from stealing glimpses at him, whenever it was safe to take her attention off of the road. He had the most gorgeous green eyes she'd ever seen, and they were deeper than the oceans.

The van rounded a corner and Peter spied a sign which read, St. Mary's Road. He breathed a sigh of relief, as he wouldn't now have time to tell his tale. He saw the church spire up ahead and indicted his recognition of it.

"Looks like I'm not lost anymore, thank you," he said.

"Oi, not so fast, mister," she stopped the van.

"That's my pub, by the way," she pointed down the road to The Angel.

Peter felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he realised the place he'd chosen to patronise only a short while ago, was practically on his doorstep. He had been in such a state when he left the pub, he must have headed off in the opposite direction.

"You promised me a long story, and I've not heard a word of it yet," Phoebe scowled.

She knew she had no right to ask anything about his personal life. But that didn't stop her longing to know more about him.

"To cut a long story short, I lost my mind," he said with a shrug.

She let out a snort of laughter.

"Spandau Ballet, right?" She asked.

Peter smiled, but his eyes were full of sadness.

"I'd better go, me friend will be wondering what's become of me. Thanks again, I'm glad I didn't take you too far out of your way."

He got a strong urge to flee and put as much distance between himself and this woman as he could. The way she was looking at him was too familiar and he suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. He hastily jumped out of the van and was ready to set off towards the rectory.

"Hey, Peter, will I see you around?" Phoebe asked.

She didn't want to seem desperate; after all he was practically a stranger. She couldn't deny feeling a strong attraction towards him, though, and wanted the chance to get better acquainted with him.

"Maybe, and thanks again, I'd better go," he said as he scurried off without a backwards glance.

He didn't stop until he was safely inside the rectory with the door locked behind him.

"What in God's name…? Peter, you look as white as a sheet," Father Gordon Blake had come to greet him, only to be shocked by the state he found him in.

The former priest was unable to speak at all for fully ten minutes as his friend brewed them both a strong pot of tea.

"The pub down the road, The Angel, do you ever go in there?" Peter was finally able to ask.

"Err; I've been in a few times, yeah. Why? Did something happen to you in there?" Gordon inquired with concern.

How could he even begin to tell his friend what had happened? It all seemed too incredible to be true, and he didn't know where to start.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what the matter is," his friend couldn't bear to see him looking so distraught.

Peter slowly reached inside his jacket pocket and felt around for what he needed.

"You know about Assumpta Fitzgerald, and everything that happened, but I never showed you a picture of her, did I?" He asked as he placed a photograph onto the kitchen table.

Gordon tentatively glanced at it, as he thought about his friend's sad tale of lost love and the downfall of his career as a priest. She was pretty, he supposed, although it was a long time since he'd appreciated the female form. There was something familiar about her, and he struggled to recall what it was.

"I know from all you've told me, that she was a very special person. A true one-of-a-kind Irish beauty and today is the anniversary of her death, isn't it?" He said as the realisation dawned on him.

He had somehow managed to forget the significance of this date, no wonder his friend was so upset.

"I don't know about one-of-a-kind, the landlady of The Angel looks exactly like Assumpta, I mean they could have been twins," Peter explained.

Gordon suddenly realised the reason for the spark of recognition he'd got from the photograph.

"Well, they do say everyone has a double out there somewhere. We had a summer fete here last year, which was opened by Posh and Becks, not the real one's mind, but they were very like," he said.

The former priest took a seat at the kitchen table and stared hard at the photograph. It was sent to him by Niamh Egan, after his return to Manchester.

"I'd hoped that by inviting you here, I might offer a distraction from your sorrows, not add to them," Gordon said with regret as he placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I want to see her again," Peter all but whispered.

"I know I'll just be torturing meself, and she's not… I do feel like I've gone back in time, though. Back to those days in Ballykissangel when I fought so hard against temptation, and it was all in vain in the end," he said.

"You're not a priest anymore, and there'd be no harm in you getting to know this woman, so long as it's for the right reasons," Gordon counselled.

"That's just it though, I'm not sure it would be. I'm afraid that I'd only be trying to get back something I lost a long time ago," Peter sighed.

* * *

Phoebe fidgeted with the beer mats and ended up scattering them on the floor instead of the bar.

"Are you alright, love? You've been all over the place since you came back in this afternoon," Michael fretted.

He had always been close to his daughter and he could sense all was not well with her. It wasn't just her nervous actions, there was something on her mind and he wanted to let her know he was there, if she needed to talk about it.

She appreciated her father's concern; the trouble was she couldn't put what she was feeling into words to talk about it. Her meeting with Peter Clifford had stirred up something inside of her; she just wasn't sure what it was.

"I'm starting to have second thoughts about going back home tomorrow. I could always see about getting my ticket changed, and stay on a few more days."

Michael was missing his wife and son in New Zealand, but he couldn't leave Phoebe until he was sure she was okay. He enjoyed spending time with her and the week had passed too quickly. He knew his daughter didn't get on with her stepmother, but that she did regret not being close to her half-brother, Alfie.

"You could always come back with me, you'd love it out there if you'd only give it a chance," he tried to tempt her for the millionth time.

"Dad, you know I can't. What about this place? Phoebe argued.

"I have to admit, I didn't know what to think the other year, when you told me you were buying this pub. It was so out of the blue, and after your accident, it felt like you were a different person at times. But this place does seem to have done you good. It doesn't stop me worrying about you though, and wishing you were closer at hand," he explained.

"This is my life and my home now, I love it here," she said.

He nodded and fondly stroked her cheek.

"You can't blame your old dad for trying though, can you?"

Phoebe hugged him, and then returned to her thoughts of the former priest.

Her eyes were on the pub door every time someone stepped through it, just in case it was him.

She imagined him walking up to the bar dressed in black, with the dog collar, and asking for a pint of lager. It wasn't in this place though, but in somewhere a bit more rustic, like an Irish themed bar she'd once visited.

"Penny for them."

A warm voice brought her back down to earth.

"Peter?" Phoebe gasped to see him standing where she had imagined him, well, almost.

"A pint of lager is it?" She inquired with a grin.

He looked surprised.

"How did you know?" He asked.

"Lucky guess, I suppose," she said.

Phoebe shrugged it off, but an undefinable feeling of something more than déjà vu kept niggling at her. In her mind's eye she got a sudden flash of Peter, in his priest attire, telling her that he loved her. Was it a memory? How could it be? They had only just met. The sploshing sound of the lager overflowing from the pint glass she had been filling brought her out of her reverie.

"Careful there or you'll be pouring away all your profits," Peter quipped.

"Would you ever bog off?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.


	4. Chapter 4

God Moves In a Mysterious Way

Chapter 4

Heaven Must Be Missing an Angel

Phoebe didn't know why she'd just spoken to Peter like that. He was staring at her in wide-eyed shock, and she offered profuse apologies as she handed him his pint.

"On the house," she muttered as she scuttled off to serve another customer.

Peter eventually recovered enough to sip at his pint and he watched Phoebe whirling around the bar. It was a busy evening and it didn't look like he was going to get much chance to talk with her. He probably shouldn't have gone back there, but he just couldn't help himself. Gordon had left him to take evening mass, and he decided he wouldn't fight against temptation; he'd done enough of that for one lifetime.

The CD, which was playing in the background, started to jump and Phoebe went to change it. She grabbed a random replacement and slipped it into the machine.

_Heaven must be missin' an angel_

_Missin' one angel, child, 'cause you're here with me right now…_

_[Heaven Must Be Missin' An Angel written by Freddie Perren and Keni St. Lewis]_

Peter flinched as they exchanged an awkward glance.

He began to regret his boldness and felt out of his depth. His attraction to Assumpta was based on a lot more than her looks, but he couldn't deny the physical chemistry he felt when he was near to her. He was getting the same feeling now, and he owed it to Phoebe to be honest with her.

"That story I was gonna tell you, do you still want to hear it?" He asked her.

"I'd love too, when I'm not so rushed off my feet," she said.

Peter glanced behind her to the portrait of her grandmother.

"I came in here earlier today, before I bumped into you, and I met your dad. He told me a bit about your gran; you certainly look like her," he explained.

"Yeah, it's not easy living in someone else's shadow your whole life," she sighed.

Phoebe had grown to hate the constant comparisons with her namesake, even though she knew she couldn't avoid them, especially since her recent change of career to being a publican.

Peter began to reconsider his plan to tell her about his past. If she was upset about living in her grandmother's shadow, how would she react to being told about Assumpta? He was willing to bet the conversation would not go well.

"You came back then?"

A voice startled them both as Michael Sparrow walked up behind his daughter, unexpectedly.

"Ah, yes, I'm staying just up the road from here," Peter explained.

"Dad, how would you like to take over here while I have my break? You seemed to enjoy it earlier, and Sally's due in to work soon, I won't be long," Phoebe asked.

She gave him a pleading look and knew he couldn't resist.

"Oh, go on then," Michael said.

"Peter, the living room is the first left at the top of the stairs," she said as she ushered him behind the bar and into the staff only area.

Phoebe's dad gave her a questioning look, and she lingered long enough to offer a quick explanation.

She had an overwhelming urge to be alone with Peter, she just knew there was something between them, and had to find out what it was. She took a deep breath and prepared to join him upstairs.

* * *

Peter glanced around the lounge and noticed all the family portraits hanging on the wall. There were a few pictures of the older Phoebe Sparrow, with a tall thin man, who he presumed was her husband. A selection of other unfamiliar faces stared down at him, and he felt increasingly uneasy. He wasn't sure how his story was going to be received, and considering the warning look Michael Sparrow had just given him, he contemplated making an excuse to leave. He could tell that Phoebe liked him, and he didn't want to run out on her. She would probably send him packing soon enough, he thought.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, my dad just needed some gentle persuasion," she apologised.

"He doesn't want you being led astray by a strange man," Peter jested.

"Maybe I should have told him you're an ex-priest, then again, maybe not," she smirked.

He shifted about in his seat with discomfort. This wasn't going to be easy.

Phoebe sat as close to him on the sofa, as was polite for a near-stranger to do. She felt like she'd known him for years, and before she could stop herself, she reached for his hand.

He drew back with surprise, but she wasn't to be deterred and she wrapped her fingers around his.

"As… Phoebe, don't," he pleaded.

She closed her eyes and as she did so another vision popped into her head.

"You were going to call me Assumpta then, weren't you?" She asked as she looked into his wide sorrow-filled green eyes.

Peter was shocked and confused. Who was this woman, and how did she know these things? He pulled his hand from hers and jumped to his feet.

Phoebe didn't understand what was happening to her. Things were popping into her head and she was blurting them out. It had all started when he'd bumped into her, as if he'd triggered a chain reaction of some kind, and her mind was reeling.

"I'm sorry, I can't help it," she said as he stood glaring at her.

"I see myself in another time and place, only I'm not me, I'm someone else. I'm still a landlady though, and you are there with me. In that place you're still a priest. You ask me if I have a minute, and then you tell me you love me. I don't seem surprised by this, I just joke that you should take your dog collar off before you say things like that," she paused to see Peter looking incredulous and weeping silent tears.

"Then the lights flicker and the place is plunged into darkness. I go down into the cellar to change the fuse, and…" she stopped.

"And?" He asked in nothing more than a whisper.

Phoebe began to feel light-headed, and the room started to spin.

"I'll never leave you, Peter, I love you," she cried out before slumping unconscious onto the sofa.

He was at her side in an instant.

"Assumpta, is it really you? How...?" He held her limp body close to his.

Michael Sparrow came running into the room and was astounded at the sight that met his eyes.

"Phoebe?"

He rushed to his daughter's side as her eyes began to flutter open.

"What's going on? If you've hurt my little girl…" he snarled at Peter.

"She just fainted, or something," the ex-priest tried to explain, although he could make no sense of it.

Phoebe seemed to be recovering her senses, but she had no memory of all the things she'd just said.

"Peter, I'm sorry, I don't know what happened there," she blushed.

"Should I call a doctor?" He offered.

She declined but her father wasn't so easily placated.

"This has happened before, remember after your accident? It wouldn't hurt to get checked over, just to be on the safe side," Michael cautioned.

Phoebe reluctantly nodded, as she knew he wouldn't let the matter drop.

"Will you be alright while I go and call the doctor?" He asked as he warily eyed the young man who was holding onto her.

"Yes," she said in a sharper tone than she'd meant to.

"I'll be fine," she offered him a weak smile.

Peter helped her sit back up on the sofa and he took a seat next to her. He recalled her father's mention of an accident and asked her about it.

"I used to work in the city; I was an accountant at one of the big firms there. I commuted back and forth Monday to Friday, and it was always an uneventful journey, until that fateful day, almost two years ago. My alarm didn't go off that morning, and I was rushing to get to the station before I missed my train. I saw the time on the clock outside and I just didn't look where I was going. I ran to cross the road, and bam, I got hit by a car. I don't remember much after that until I woke up in the hospital," she explained.

Phoebe suddenly recalled something and her eyes widened at the memory.

"I was in a coma for the best part of a week, and my dad told me the first thing I said when I opened my eyes was, Peter."

She looked to him for some kind of an explanation, but he had none to give. He believed in life after death, and that a person's soul could exist beyond the physical plane. This was something else altogether though, and he wasn't sure he could make sense of it. Was it possible that Assumpta's soul had inhabited this body, after Phoebe's accident? Peter examined his faith, if he could believe in things like transubstantiation and the holy trinity, then why not this?


	5. Chapter 5

God Moves In a Mysterious Way

Chapter 5

Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

Peter felt he should leave, and yet he really didn't want to. Michael Sparrow kept hinting that the ex-priest had overstayed his welcome, but his daughter didn't seem to agree. Phoebe appeared to have recovered from her fainting incident, and insisted on getting back to work. The doctor had advised her to take things easy for the rest of the evening, but the pub wouldn't run itself. Peter willingly volunteered to stay and help out. He wanted to talk to her about what had happened, and the things she'd said. He was disappointed to find Phoebe didn't seem to remember anything after she had joined him upstairs. She was only able to offer an apology for not giving him the chance to tell her his story.

The idea that Assumpta might have somehow found her way back to him, was taking hold, and Peter dared to let himself hope. He couldn't resist mentioning a few things from the past, to see if they would trigger her memory. He decided he should tread carefully, for many reasons, not least his fear of overloading her and bringing on another fainting attack..

"Have you ever been to Ireland?"

Peter casually asked Phoebe as he dried a glass.

"No, although funnily enough, I've been thinking about it a lot recently, I'd love to go there one day," she smiled.

"What about you?"

He sighed and wondered how much detail he should go into.

"Yeah, I lived over there for a few years, it's a beautiful place," he said wistfully.

"Were you still a priest in those days?" She inquired.

"Yes, not when I left though," he practically whispered the last part.

Phoebe raised her eyebrows with interest.

"I fell in love with someone very special, and I realised, after much soul searching, that I couldn't live without her by my side," Peter couldn't stop himself from pouring his heart out.

He looked deep into her eyes and had to fight the urge to kiss her. He never got the chance with Assumpta, and he'd wanted to more than anything. If her soul was in this body, then maybe all was not lost. He suddenly realised how sad she looked and he feared she was about to burst into tears.

"Phoebe, are you alright?" He queried with alarm.

"You left the priesthood for love?" She asked.

"It wasn't as straightforward as that, but in a way, I suppose I did," he said.

"And your special someone?" She was afraid of the answer, and yet she had to know.

"She died," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Phoebe didn't get the chance to respond as a customer shouted for attention.

Peter looked at the clock and found it was almost a quarter to eleven, the evening had flown by. He guiltily considered his friend, who had been so kind as to invite him to stay. Father Blake had explained that the idea was sent to him by God. He said he'd been at prayer, when he suddenly began to think of his old friend, and got the overwhelming urge to ask Peter to visit.

Michael rang the bell for last orders, as he was keen for both his daughter to rest, and for her new friend to leave.

"We'll be fine, if you need to get off somewhere," he said, as if he could read the ex-priest's mind.

"Thanks, if you're sure," Peter reasoned he could do with some space to try and process the events of the day.

"It was very good of you to help out, but we can take it from here," Michael assured him.

He nodded and then glanced over at Phoebe; she could be Assumpta and he didn't want to say goodnight.

"It's late, and my friend will be wondering what's become of me," he reluctantly put on his jacket.

Peter didn't have a key and was less concerned about being locked out of the rectory, than he was about keeping his friend up waiting for him. Those early masses could be a test of fortitude for any priest.

Phoebe didn't want him to go, but she was tired and a good night's sleep was badly needed.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" She hopefully inquired.

"God willing," he said

* * *

Phoebe wasn't a morning person, and her father's constant fussing was not helping matters. She sipped at her coffee while he fluttered around her, muttering about delaying his flight home. The night had not brought her the restful sleep she'd hoped for, and instead it was filled with strange dreams. She dreamt of Peter as a priest and of people and places that were all at once familiar, yet unknown.

"Did you hear me? I said I could still ring the airline and see about a later flight. I don't feel at all easy leaving you, not after last night," Michael broke into her reverie.

She sighed and although she was grateful for her father's concern, all she could think about was Peter. It was becoming an obsession, and instead of being frightening, it was as if she had finally been reunited with a vital part of herself she didn't even realise was missing.

"I'm fine dad, really. If you don't go today, when would you? Tomorrow? Next week? Never? What about my dear step-mother, and Alfie? They need you more than I do," she argued.

He didn't have an answer and begrudgingly went back to his packing.

"I just hate to think of you here and all alone," he said.

Phoebe didn't feel like she was on her own, not anymore.

Peter knelt on the cold stone floor of the church and stared up at the altar. His faith almost left him after he'd lost Assumpta, but he'd managed to just about hold on to it. In any event, he needed guidance, and there was no one else qualified to give it, not on this particular matter. A person's soul could survive mortal death, of that he was sure. What he was less certain of was whether his beliefs could stretch to accepting that Phoebe had been inhabited by Assumpta's soul. But how else could she have known about that fatal night? He didn't take her for a confidence trickster, but then, he didn't know her, except every fibre of his being was telling him that he did. He prayed for a sign, to let him know he hadn't completely lost his mind.

The sun was shining brightly when he stepped out of St. Mary's and its beams seemed to be lighting up The Angel public house. Its windows looked like golden portals as he glanced down the hill at it. Was this his sign from above? He wasn't sure. It was then he caught sight of Phoebe walking towards him, she too was bathed in sunlight and he was momentarily dazzled.

Peter saw the church window cleaner had just arrived and the young man clicked his radio on.

_You're just too good to be true_

_Can't take my eyes off of you_

_You'd be like Heaven to touch_

_I wanna hold you so much_

_At long last love has arrived_

_And I thank God I'm alive_

_You're just too good to be true_

_Can't take my eyes off of you…_

_[Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You - Written by Bob Crewe and Bob Gaudio, I was thinking of the Andy Williams version]_

This was the moment, and he knew it. He wasn't going to miss out the second time around.

"When two people are meant to be together, there's no force on this earth that'll keep them apart," he repeated something Assumpta had once said.

He hadn't really meant to speak it out loud, but Phoebe smiled as if she somehow got the reference.

"I dreamt about you last night," she said.

"You'll think I'm gone in the head, but in my dream we were on a stage somewhere, it looked like a prison cell, and we'd reached the part where we were supposed to kiss."

She paused and swallowed her nerves.

"I've never wanted to kiss anyone as much as I did you in that moment."

His lips crashed down on hers as he pulled her closer, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. The full force of the emotions that were coursing through both of them, intensified their passion to almost rapturous levels. They were completely breathless when they finally broke apart.

Phoebe tried to collect her thoughts because there was something important she needed to tell him.

"I remembered what I said last night, before I passed out, it was as if I was her. Do you think I could be her? Assumpta Fitzgerald, she was your special someone, wasn't she?"

Peter drew in a deep breath and he was still shaking from the intensity of their kiss.

"I… I don't know, I'm not sure what to think, I just can't explain how else you'd know the things you do, if Assumpta wasn't in there, somewhere," he said.

Tears were streaming down her face, as she reached out to touch his cheek.

"The earth literally moved when you bumped into me yesterday. It was like when you shake up a snow globe and all those bits fly around and they eventually settle again, but not in the same place as they started. I'm not the person I was before I met you, and yet who I am now feels familiar, like she was always there. I do know that whenever I get a glimpse of Assumpta's life, you are there in every thought and feeling. You once asked her why you were always thinking of her, and she was the same way about you," Phoebe explained.

He wept as she spoke, but it felt cathartic, like he was both letting go and reaffirming his love all at the same time.

"I've been thinking about what happened after I got hit by that car. The only thing I do remember is floating away from my body towards a bright light and then suddenly I was falling back down to earth. I'm not sure the soul who came back was the same one that floated away. But if I am Assumpta, then I'm still Phoebe too, because I have all her memories inside me as well," she felt overwhelmed.

Peter reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve the photograph and he handed it to her. She let out a sob as she looked upon the familiar face.

"I always hated that dress, or rather, she did. I don't know who's who anymore, I feel split down the middle. I thought I was Phoebe Sparrow, east end gal and former accountant. It turns out I might be Assumpta Fitzgerald, Irish lassie and former owner of another body. The thing is, she didn't leave any family behind when she died, and I have dad and Alfie. I suppose even my wicked step-mother would miss me if I wasn't around, who else would she spend her time bitching about?"

"Assumpta left me behind," his voice cracked with emotion.

Phoebe tenderly wiped away his tears.

"No, she didn't, she defied death itself to return to you" she said.

Peter fondly tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I might only be half her, will that be enough for you?" She asked, her heart racing for fear of rejection.

"All I know is that since I met you, I don't feel alone anymore," he said.

Phoebe let out a sigh of relief as he moved to kiss her again. This time wasn't as frenzied as the first, but was filled with just as much passion.

"Assumpta loved you heart and soul, and I… I'm sure I could feel the same way. We'll need to get to know each other better, of course," she smiled.

"In the biblical sense?" He jested and then blushed at his boldness.

Phoebe giggled and reached out to hold his hands.

"They don't call it the good book for nothing."


	6. Chapter 6

God Moves In a Mysterious Way

Chapter 6

From This Moment On

Phoebe found the more time she spent with Peter, the greater the insight she got into Assumpta's life. It came both from the dreams she had and from his stories of their time together in Ballykissangel. If he sometimes called her Assumpta, she didn't mind. The two halves of her had become so interwoven, she didn't know where one ended and the other began. Peter had also been at great pains to get to know the other side of her, and her life before the accident. Phoebe couldn't be sure if her recent desire to become a pub landlady was entirely down to Assumpta, or if it was in her blood anyway. It was the same for many things, as the two women turned out to have quite a lot in common. They had a similar fashion sense, and were both involved in amateur dramatics during their student years. Both could be hard-headed business women, but under the tough exterior there beat a heart of pure gold.

Peter ended up moving into The Angel only a few days after his first kiss with Phoebe. His visit with Father Gordon Blake had reached its end, and it was never intended to be a long term arrangement. Phoebe couldn't bear the thought of him going back to Manchester, and so after a quick return trip to collect his belongings, he moved into her spare bedroom. They managed to resist the temptation to take their relationship to the next level for a whole month, although it was torture for both of them. Peter struggled because of his faith, but the greater part of him recognised he would regret waiting more than he would if he gave into his desires. Phoebe wanted to be sure he could love all of her before they took the next step. It turned out, when the time came, she wanted him more than she needed the reassurance. Their passionate lovemaking managed to ease their minds, and they were both left with no doubts that it was right. He proposed the next day, and offered her his late mother's engagement ring, which she willingly accepted.

The wedding took place three months later at St. Mary's church, and it was Peter's friend, Father Gordon Blake who did the honours. Michael Sparrow flew back over from New Zealand to give his daughter away, even if he thought she was marrying in haste. They had their reception in The Angel, and the regulars cheerily gathered around as they took to the floor for their first dance. Phoebe had found what she considered to be the perfect song for them, and she gave her father the nod to let it start. Peter took her into his arms and they were lost in each other's loving gaze as the music played.

_From this moment, I have been blessed_

_I live only, for your happiness_

_And for your love, I give my last breath_

_From this moment on_

_I give my hand to you with all my heart_

_I can't wait to live my life with you I can't wait to start_

_You and I will never be apart_

_My dreams came true because of you_

_From this moment, as long as I live_

_I will love you, I promise you this_

_There is nothing, I wouldn't give_

_From this moment on_

_You're the reason I believe in love_

_And you're the answer to my prayers from up above_

_All we need is just the two of us_

_My dreams came true because of you…_

_[From This Moment On by Shania Twain and R.J. 'Mutt' Lange]_

The happy couple took time to lament all those loved ones who no longer with them, like Phoebe's mother, who died when she was a teenager, and Peter's parents. They also thought about all of the people Assumpta had lost, and all of their friends back in Ireland. Their honeymoon was going to be a few days spent in Dublin, with a possible trip back to Ballykissangel. She had a desire to see the old place, and to compare it to the images she saw in her dreams. There was no strong urge within her to live there, although she wondered if being in Ireland might make her feel differently. They already had a home, and Peter was content to be wherever she was. He helped out in the pub and was also involved in various community projects through Father Blake's recommendation. The only part of the priesthood he really missed was helping others and now he was once again able to make a positive contribution to the community. This wasn't the life either of them expected, but it was no less wonderful for that.

* * *

Phoebe was exhausted from the travelling by the time they arrived in Dublin, and she gratefully slumped down on the king-sized bed in their hotel room.

"Are you alright? You look pale," Peter fretted.

She had been keeping a secret and wasn't ready to give it up just yet, however sorely she was tempted. She knew where she wanted to tell him, and it wasn't in this place.

"Sure, aren't I always pale?" She joked in her best Irish accent.

He couldn't help but smile as he joined her on the bed.

"Are you sure about going back to visit BallyK? We don't have to, and as much as I'd love to see Father Mac's face after seeing you, it might not be the best idea," he said as he lovingly stroked her face.

Phoebe had already fallen asleep. He tenderly stroked her hair and covered her with a blanket. He was worried about her, but they had set off early that morning, and if she needed a little nap, then so be it. Peter's most pressing concern at that moment was a fear of waking her with his rumbling stomach. He gently kissed his wife's forehead and then went in search of a snack. The hotel was offering a selection of sandwiches but he decided on some fresh air and a local cafe. He hadn't been seated for more than a few minutes when a familiar figure walked through the door. They both caught each other's eye and froze in shock before moving to greet each other.

"Father Clifford, I mean, Peter, what a surprise," she said.

"Niamh, likewise, lovely to see you though," he smiled as they engaged in an awkward hug.

"Are you on holidays, or what?" She inquired as they placed their orders with the waitress.

"On honeymoon, actually," he said bashfully.

"Really? That's great," she was slightly shocked but happy for him.

"And you? Is Ambrose with you?" He asked.

She began to look uncomfortable.

"He died, it was an accident, and it's been over a year now," she hurriedly explained.

"Oh, Niamh, I'm so sorry," Peter reached to take her hand and noticed she was still wearing her wedding ring.

She drew back from him and began to nervously fidget with her tea, which the waitress had just set down on the table.

"You and Kieran must miss him dreadfully, is he not with you? I'd love to see him," Peter thought of the little boy as he was when he'd christened him.

Niamh seemed to be in a rush to drink up and leave. He looked at her with confusion as she reluctantly met his eye.

"I once told you I didn't believe in divorce, and I meant it at the time, but things change. Ambrose and me, well our marriage didn't turn out the way we thought it would, and we were unhappy in the end. It doesn't mean I was glad for what happened to him, I never thought it was a blessing in disguise, despite what some people might have said. I fell in love with another man, and I remarried, I'm Mrs Dillon now," she explained.

The news was surprising, but his own life experiences had given him a different perspective and understanding of such matters. He wasn't bound by the position of the Catholic Church any longer, not that falling in love and remarrying so soon after the death of a spouse was a sin.

"So long as you're happy, life's too short for anything else," Peter said pointedly.

Niamh gave him a grateful smile.

"Tell me something about your wife, will she be joining you?" She glanced around.

"Phoebe is a lot like Assumpta, in many ways," he was being truthful if intentionally vague.

"She was tired after the journey over from London, we only got here an hour ago," he explained

"I'd love to meet her, but I have to be getting back. Sean, my husband, will be wondering where I've got to," Niamh got up to leave.

"Congratulations, by the way, I hope you and Phoebe will be very happy together."

"Same to you, and Sean," he smiled as they said their goodbyes.

Peter gratefully devoured his sandwiches and contemplated the twists of fate that shaped a life.

* * *

Phoebe craned her neck to look out of the car window for the first sighting of Ballykissangel. They decided they would drive up close to the village but not through it. After his encounter with Niamh, they judged it best to try and avoid any other reunions. Peter pulled the car into a layby, near to the river where he'd once met Assumpta. They sat in quiet contemplation for a long moment, as they took in the various village landmarks. It all looked much the same as it ever had, on the surface at least. The spire of St. Joseph's glinted in the sunlight and they couldn't miss the blue and yellow of Fitzgerald's.

"If I didn't think the whole village would throw a fit at the sight of us, I'd buy you a pint," she said.

"I'm not sure we should have come here at all, it was best left as a memory," he wiped away a tear.

Phoebe shook her head.

"No, I'm glad we did, and there's one last place I want to visit before we leave."

He gave her a puzzled look.

"The grotto," she said.

Peter started the car and drove them to the place where Assumpta had told him all about the positively stationery statue. It was also where he'd lashed out in grief and anger at the other man who'd loved her.

They parked on the grass verge and walked up to the Blessed Virgin.

"I have a confession to make," she said sheepishly.

"Oi, I'm out of that business now," he quipped although his mood was maudlin.

"I looked up Leo McGarvey, I just had to know if he was alright. Assumpta never loved him, not like she loved you. But I know there was at least a tiny part of her that wondered if what happened to her wasn't some kind of righteous punishment for the way she'd treated him," she confessed.

Peter couldn't deny the same thought had crossed his mind, only he thought the penance belonged to him.

"He donated the money he got from the auction of Fitzgerald's to the Catholic Church, did you know that?" She laughed.

He shook his head.

"He moved to America earlier this year, with his new wife, so it seems he moved on just fine," she said.

Peter was glad for Leo, he was a good man, and he deserved to find happiness. He pulled his wife to him and held her close against his chest.

"I love you," he said and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Phoebe pulled back slightly so she could look in his eyes.

"I've got one more thing to confess, and I wanted to tell you here because it seemed right somehow."

He raised a quizzical brow.

"I nearly told you yesterday when you were fretting yourself silly, but I had my heart set on doing it here," she explained.

"Don't keep me in suspense," he pleaded.

Phoebe grinned.

"I'm pregnant."

Peter gasped in shock which soon turned into ecstatic delight as he picked her up in his arms and twirled her around.

"I'm going to be a father?" He cried with happiness.

He felt he had come full circle from the first time he'd stumbled upon this place as Father Peter Clifford, the Catholic priest, now he was leaving as a husband and soon-to-be dad.

"I'm done with revisiting the past, let's get back to the present, shall we?" He gladly took her outstretched hand and they strolled back to the car.

"I couldn't half eat some jellied eels with a nice pot of colcannon," she said and they both burst out laughing.

**THE END.**

* * *

**I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this fanfic, and I hope you all enjoyed it. Please leave a review if you feel moved to do so, as it's helpful to know what people like, and what they don't. I was motivated to write this story because of my love for the show (well, the first 3 series, anyway) and the characters, so I hope I did them justice. Thanks again - Mrs P.**


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